Getting Goodbyes, Christmas and Psychoanalysts
by Alias - Eyelash - Blue
Summary: I just felt like writing a little bit of Holden. It picks up where the book ends. Please review. I'm really enjoying this so I think i'll continue even if nobody reviews. Holden is fun to write.


**Getting Goodbyes**

* * *

This place is really a hospital, but they all pretend like it isn't. It's a real phony place too. They all act like they're so goddamn _glad_ to see you and all; but it's not too bad. The first couple of weeks here I wasn't really paying too much attention because I was all sick and depressed as hell. After a while, I sorta got to like the place, even though it was phony. That's just the thing - you spend a lot of time in a place and you really start to like it. I mean it's _familiar_.

It's like with all the prep schools. Each time I got the axe I was so goddamn glad to be shot of that place, but then as soon as i'd left I'd start to think back about all the stuff I liked about it, but mostly about the stuff I didn't like, when I shouldn't have been thinking about that place at all. What I should have been doing was _applying_ myself, but it's hard to apply yourself when your not really concentrating on the new place, but more thinking about the old place.

Most times it's hard to concentrate. It takes me a while to really be shot of a place, or a person, even if I hadn't seen them in a real long time. It's especially hard if I havn't gotten a proper goodbye. Like with old Jane Gallagher - I didn't know I wasn't gonna be seeing her for a while, so I didn't say goodbye properly, and then I couldn't get her out of my head. That's what I mean about not being able to get shot of someone, even if you try.

I guess, I'm trying to tell you how I was all screwed up when I first got here, so I barely even noticed I was here. I was still thinking about Pencey and old Pheobe and even Ackley kid and all, so that when I finally figured this place out it had already been a whole week. I've already said sometimes I don't remember things to hot. Well, that week I didn't remember too good at all. No,sir. The doctors here made a big deal out of that. They all made a helluva big deal and kept asking me questions about how I was _feeling_ and all. I said I wasn't feeling too hot and they were all so goddamn nice about it.

My first psychoanalyst was a real phony. He thought he was some aces, hot shot guy because he'd been to Havord Med and had a PhD and all. He thought he was a real Ivy league big shot. He would have been okay if he wasn't so goddamn nice about everything. I mean, I didn't really mind them asking all the questions too much. Not at first. I couldn't really get interested in that stuff and it's not like I had to answer any of them.

Anyway, this guy was just so_ sincere _- talking in this really sincere voice, like he was a helluva swell guy. That really pissed me off. So after the first week of talking to him I stood up real sudden and yelled at him that he was a stinking phony bastard sunovabitch and that I wasn't gonna talk to him. He got real cold about that, but I didn't care.

I was still kinda angry about being stuck in this place. They didn't even tell me. That got me pissed - they didn't even tell me - so I didn't get to say a proper goodbye to anybody. I was moody as hell on the car journey here. I didn't even talk to old Phoebe. I didn't talk at _all_. Childish, I admit, but I swear I act like a little kid sometimes.

When we got here my mother gave me this hug and you could tell she really meant it. I'm not too big on hugs, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings or anything, so I hugged her back. You could tell she really meant it. Most people don't hug you properly - the people I hug anyway, but I don't feel like hugging a lot of people. Most people sort of give you are half hug or a real quick one, or a real big phony hug, but she gave me a real hug, and you could tell she meant it. Jane gave good hugs too. I've hugged her once or twice. She doesn't cling to you the way some girls do, or just sort of hang her arms on you. Jane hugged properly too. You could tell my mother was real upset about all this, and I don't blame her, I mean I really don't blame her. I sorta felt sorry for her, in a way - I mean it wasn't her fault or anything, and she's so nervous and all - so I sorta felt kinda sorry for my mother.

My father's in California again for some trial, I think, so the only other person I had to say goodbye to was Phoebe. She was still real upset about what happened at Christmas, but she still stood up and gave me a hug and all. She was sorta crying while she did it. I hated to see her cry, but I couldn't think of anything to say to her, so I didn't say anything. Then she sorta reached up and put my red hunting hat on my head. I tried to make her take it back, but she wouldn't.

"It's your hat Holden," she kept saying. "It's yours."

"But I _gave_ it to you," I said. I took it off and put it back on her head, but she would let me - she kept ducking out from under it so I couldn't.

All she would say was, "It's your hat Holden. Keep it."

So I kept it. It was the least I could do for her, what with her having such a lousy Christmas and all.

* * *

**Christmas

* * *

**I sorta went kinda crazy around Christmas time, if you really want to know. I went home with Phoebe like I said I would and got a helluva racket for getting the axe again, but I didn't care too much. And then on Friday I went to see old Phoebe in her Benedict Arnold play. It was sorta good, but it was also sorta depressing, to tell you the truth.

Phoebe was alright in it. Phoebe was fantastic in it, and I usually like school plays because you can tell the kids get a big bang out of it and none of them are really acting, but it just reminded me too much of crumby theatre. It was almost obscene how the school play was so _innocent_. It made me wonder about all the little kids and how they're going to turn out. It nearly killed me when Phoebe refused to go back to school that afternoon. It made me worry that she was gonna turn out like me.

There was this one kid in the play that depressed the hell out of me. He was a real skinny little guy, with huge eyes. He was one of the big parts, and you could tell he knew he was good at acting. He knew he was better at acting than the other kids. I mean, with Phoebe, she had a big part - and she was pleased and all - but she just did it because she liked it. Whereas this kid - obviously he liked it too - but he _knew_ he was better at it than the other kids, and he liked that too. And I could just imagine him in a few years time being a big phony movie star, and that depressed the hell out of me, because he didn't even know it. So I didn't enjoy it too much, though I made out like I did when Pheobe came out. It's not that it wasn't a good play - I'm not saying that - I just didn't enjoy it too much.

After the play, all the parents hung around in the hall. The school had provided wine for the adults and orange juice for the children. And there was cake and stuff on those sad, floppy paper plates. It was very sad. And what made it worse was that I couldn't get any alcohol, being in a school and a minor and all. So I had to drink the goddamn orange juice, just for something to do. I had to stand around drinking the goddamn _orange juice_, and making out like I was enjoying every minute of it. What a joke. It was sort of funny in a way. All the adults were talking, very polite, pretending they liked each other. The kids were real excited though, running the hell all over the place. Then Phoebe bounced up in front of me so quick I nearly fell over. "Hey Holden!" she practically shouted. She was real excited. I mean real excited. "Hey Holden, you came," she said.

"Course I did," I said. "I wasn't gonna miss it, was I?"

"It was good wasn't it?"

"Yes. It was excellent. You were really good," I said.

"Look what I got!" old Phoebe said. She was waving a big cane in front of my face. The one she had in the play. I was a proper cane - nothing fancy or anything, but it wasn't a stick. "They let me keep it!" Phoebe said. She got a real kick out of that cane. Phoebe has good sense. She gets a kick out of things no one cares about, like canes and red hunting hats. She just about killed me, waving that cane around, with the red hat on and all. She pulled the hunting hat low over her eyes and was tapping the cane about, making out like she was blind. We were just horsing around, but sometimes I think she has more sense than me, because she also gets a good kick out of things other people get a bang from. And they're the things you're supposed to get excited about - like school plays - but I don't get a kick from stuff like that. I probably should.

Then I got kinda depressed again at Christmas. Christmas is the phoniest holiday of them all. I mean it's supposed to be a Christian holiday, but all the kids in my family are atheists so we shouldn't even celebrate it, but we do. It's just a reason for phonies to show off their wads of cash and buy presents for other phonies they don't even like. It's good buying gifts for your family. I mean, you _should _buy gifts for your family, but my mother sends a little gift to a guy - Arnie something - that she hasn't seen since college and doesn't even like him that much, and he never sends us anything or even says thank you. People never say thank you when you send them stuff.

And then there's Santa Clause. I mean, who the hell thought of that. It sounds kinda perverty, I think. I mean, a strange old man sneaking into little kids rooms and giving them presents while they're asleep? Sounds like a kinda perverty thing to do. I was never keen on Santa, not even when I was little. But little kids like to believe in Santa. And then there's some little bastard kid that ruins it for them by going around telling all the other kids that he's not real. I didn't believe in him anyway, but I wouldn't have done that. You should let kids believe what they want to believe, but some little kid always tells them anyway. And of course there's a Santa in every single window display, so the perverty bastard is everywhere you look. I hate those shop window displays. It's just trying to make you buy stuff. I hate to think of all those little kids getting spoiled rotten at Christmas and having shop window crap fill up their bedrooms.

So I wasn't too big on Christmas. It's too phony. But I was still sorta sad, that Sally Hayes didn't ask me to come trim the tree again. She didn't even call or anything, even when she's made that big deal about it, but she didn't even call. And then D.B didn't come home for Christmas because he was writing his Annapolis play. What does D.B need to write _Annapolis_ for? That got me blue as hell. And then that got me thinking about how I was always told Christmas was family time, and how that was a stinking phony lie like everything else, because loads of people's families weren't together at Christmas. And then I got to thinking how my Christmas would never be family time , even if D.B had come home, because Allie wasn't here any more. And then I felt like I just couldn't take it anymore and I just walked out.

* * *

**Psychoanalysts**

* * *

No lie. I really did. I didn't even open my presents or anything. I don't know what time it was, some time early in the morning. Nobody was even awake yet, and Pheobe always wakes you up early on Christmas, so it must have been real early in the morning. I just got up, got dressed, and walked out the door. And then I kept walking. I just felt like it I guess. I was sort of crying while I was walking. There was nobody around, and I don't think I would have cared if anyone saw me. And I just walked for ages. I was getting freezing cold, because I didn't have any gloves - I didn't even have my hunting hat any more because I'd given it to Phoebe. I was freezing cold, but I honestly didn't care. I didn't really care about anything any more.

Except Allie.

I always cared about Allie - just because someone's dead doesn't mean you stop caring about them. So I was just walking and sorta crying and talking to Allie - In my head mostly, but I was worried I might have been saying some of it out loud. I probably looked like a nut. I swear to god I'm a madman. So I just kept walking. Then at some point people started appearing. I dunno what time it was, but everyone was out doing stuff with their families, like you do on Christmas. I kind of avoided everyone. I'm not too sure how. I didn't remember that part too hot. I just remember I walked a lot.

I think I walked all day. I remember I was sat on the bench in central park next to the little lagoon. The ducks weren't there. It was really dark around then. I dunno what time it was, but it was dark as hell. And I was soaking wet. I wondered whether I had fallen in the lagoon or something, but I don't think I had. I think my jacket was starting to frost over and I was shivering like a madman and all, but I didn't want to move. I think I kinda wanted to die at that point. And then I think I must of passed out.

They found me at some point during that night. I ended up with a helluva cold and was sneezing for days on end. Then they sent me here.

So anyway, I was sorta thinking about that as I was saying goodbye to my family and all, because that's what got me stuck here. The way I was headed, I probably would have wound up here anyway. So I was saying goodbye and I kept sneezing, so Phoebe gave me back my red hunting hat and I thanked her. And then she leaned up and gave me a little kiss on my forehead - she's really a very affectionate kid - and she said to me in this very serious voice, "You're gonna be okay, Holden." For some reason that made me feel really nervous.

"Sure I will," I said, "Yeah, I will." I'm not entirely sure who I was talking to - her probably. So they both said goodbye and then they left. And I was sort of crying again when I was watching them drive away, and Phoebe's little head popped up and she waved out the back window. And then it made me think of Mr Antolini, and how he said I was riding for a horrible fall. And that maybe this was it. And that I wasn't allowed to know I was falling and now I had finally hit the bottom and gone splat and all my brains had come out and everything - because it felt like I couldn't think any more. It's real hard to think when you're depressed.

Then I just sort of went inside and made myself comfortable in my room. They have this policy. They're not allowed to let you have your own room, and I had to have a roommate, so it felt sort of like school again. Except I didn't have any school books with me or anything so it felt a little strange. I started to wonder what I would have to do to flunk out of here.

My roommate was a very nervous guy, called Wilfred Bower - he was a very nervous guy. We didn't talk much - I guess niether of us felt like it. It was nice, for a change - not talking I mean - most guys I room with talk all the time, so it was nice. I think I only had one conversation with him the whole week. I asked if he was related to this guy I met once. I met this guy at a party at Elkton Hills. The guys name was Dick Bower, or something, so I thought they might be related or something. He shrugged and said he didn't think so. And I asked if I could call him 'Wilf' and he said sure, if I felt like it. And then that was it and we didn't say one word to each other for the rest of the week - but not in a mean way - he was a nice guy.

That first week I cried a lot. I'm still not sure why. Maybe I was home sick. I sure did miss everyone an awful lot. I especially missed old Jane, even though I hadn't seen her in years, but like I said, I just couldn't get shot of her. And I slept more than I've ever slept in my entire life - I was so goddamn tired. And then I started having sessions with my psychoanalyst - the bastard Harvard Med guy - but I wasn't a very good conversationalist.

That is, until I yelled at him. I think I got my point across pretty well there. I haven't had much experience with Psychoanalysts, but he was a bastard. He kept asking me why I walked out on Christmas and how I _felt_ about that. I hate it when they ask that. I mean, how the hell do I know? He didn't do it tricky or smooth or anything, he just came right out and asked. He said his method was to be 'Brutally honest' with his patients. He certainly was brutal. So I just stood up and told him to get the hell out.


End file.
